


Forevermore

by StaminaOverlook



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-06-10 07:15:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15286488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StaminaOverlook/pseuds/StaminaOverlook
Summary: Leroux AU. Christine refuses Raoul's proposal to run away and returns to Erik.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This is my first attempt to indulge in writing phanfiction. A Leroux AU where Christine refuses to run away with Raoul just because she is too scared of Erik. Please read and review.  
> P. S. The first two lines are taken straight from the novel's translation. Christine's answer is different, however.  
> P. P. S. This may result in a multi-chapter, but I'm not promising anything.

**Forevermore, Chapter 1**

_She wrung her hands in anguish, while Raoul pressed her to his heart._

_"No, no, you shall never again hear him tell you that he loves you! You shall not see his tears! Let us fly, Christine, let us fly at once!"_

_"Oh, I wish so much that I could just run away with you! But I can't! He won't let me go and he will find us anywhere, Raoul. I loathe the thought of living the rest of my life in fear..."_

* * *

Christine stood in front of the mirror in her dressing room as it slid open. Erik was standing behind it, his posture stoic and rigid as usually, albeit his crookedness was partially concealed by the heavy thick cloak that hung on his thin shoulders. His dress was as impeccable as always, even more so than ordinarily. Of course, he would take utmost care in how he would present himself to her at this moment. This was a very special occasion, after all.

He did not dare offer his gloved hand to her, remembering, how she recoiled from his touch before. He could not blame her: she would do good to keep her skin clean from the touch of the death's hands, the hands of a murderer. So she stepped in the damp secret passageway on her own and directed her gaze to the distance as if trying to look at anything…. anything but HIM.

He could not blame her for that, either. Still, he could not keep his emotions at bay, nevermind that at some point in his life he had been specifically trained for that. Extremely scorching and enlivening at the same time, strong feelings were swirling and boiling in his soul, going up from his chest to his head, putting his mind in a sudden daze. And he felt true triumph as he saw her follow him, as they descended the endless staircase that led into the cellars, the abyss he called his "home".

In the middle of the descent, however, he could not help but notice the stiff silence that wrapped itself around them. He stopped and turned around, still holding the lantern high above his head, his gold glowing eyes cast upward to look upon her face.

He then noticed her slightly furrowed brows, her concerned and distracted look. He jerked a few stairs up, walking up to her and looking her in the eyes, trying to see the reason behind her obvious distress. "Christine, what's wrong? Tell me, you..."

She shrunk away, her eyes darted from him for a second, then she turned around to look into the darkness that they passed a minute ago, that hid the way to her dressing room. And suddenly realization shot through him.

Of course. She has been acting like this since yesterday, since her knight in shining armour, the Viscount, had last met her and told her about his leaving for the North Pole. Despite the fact that the decision to stay was her decision entirely, and the Viscount's proposal to run away had been successfully rejected, her fear and repulsion could be seen in her rigid stature, her nervous eyes, her folded arms which trembled still. Once again the strand of happiness he held evaporated from his soul, and his troubled gaze turned cold and distant with rage, as he leaned away from Christine, once again lifting the lantern up high.

"Ah, I see. It is that boy, right? De Chagny... He left without you."

Christine did not even try to deny it. "Yes..." After a moment of still uncomfortable silence, she brought a hand to her mouth, partially concealing her face in a defensive manner. "Yes, and I am afraid."

Erik's eyes went wide and he chuckled at her irrationality.

"Afraid? What in the world are you afraid of?"

She took a second to answer, carefully choosing her words.

"...Of what is to come."

"...Of what is to come? Christine, are you afraid of living with your Erik in these cellars?" He made a wide, dramatic move with his free arm as if gesturing towards the vaults in general. "There are no monsters in these catacombs, Christine, except for one, who is standing right in front of you." And he slammed his fist on his chest, pointing towards himself, emphasizing his own self-loathing words. "And even if there were monsters down here, YOUR monster would protect you from them!"

The whites of her eyes went large, her blue irises all the more expressive of her fear, as if not believing what he said. He interpreted it just as that, lifting his head and adjusting his top-hat.

"Yes, my dear, Erik has an unfathomable amount of knowledge with various weaponry. You haven't seen him in combat," he added with a little hint of pride and perhaps smugness of his capabilities.

She jerked back all the more frightened, she did not WANT to see him "in combat" under any circumstances. "Erik, I believe you, but, please, call yourself a monster no more," she said hastily.

He slouched even further, tilting his head and looking pointedly at her with squinted eyes that seemed to glow like the lantern he held in the darkness. "Oh, but your Erik is one, my dear. You cannot deny that. He himself does not deny it."

She decided to not argue further. She knew she would not be able to sway him to do otherwise. Of course, she too at one point thought him a monster, but it would be much easier to continue following him if they both pretended that it was a man who stood in front of her and led her to her future grave. So she rubbed the tip of her nose with a pale-pink, accurately trimmed nail and folded her arms in front of her once again, re-directing her gaze somewhere in the dark corner, as if searching for something. At last, after several seconds of uncomfortable silence, she spoke up.

"...Y-you say you would protect me from them." Her eyes went up from the stony, mossy wall to his masked face. She furrowed her brows in determination and spat out: "But who is going to protect me from...from YOU?"

Erik stumbled a few stairs lower as if struck in the chest by a powerful blow. His torso bent back, his eyes went wide once again, and his breathing became shallow and erratic.

"...M-me? Christine, do you feel like you need protection f-from... Erik?" He was hurt, he did not want to believe that she actually MEANT what she just said. He slouched forward, spreading his palm with spidery fingers across his chest and emitted a hoarse, ragged breath, trying to regain his composure. "Hah! Christine, Erik would never harm you. Christine must know that. I... Erik would not dare touch you, Christine, if you don't want him to."

As if to add weight to his words, he shifted further from her as if he were a contagious disease, his lantern once again hanging low at his side.

Christine could not stand seeing him like this, knowing her words hurt him so. Stretching her arms out, as if wanting to soothe or comfort him, she descended a few stairs towards him, but he jerked even further away from her, with his head now bent and tilted. The gesture as if he were ashamed, hiding his eyes from her. Her fragile heart felt as though it had begun to crumble at such a sight. Poor, unhappy Erik.

Christine found her voice "No, it's not that... I know that you are a genius. But Erik... That just makes you all the more unpredictable"

His eyes momentarily went up to her, but she did not falter, the words leaving her mouth faster and faster. "I cannot tell what you're going to do in the next second, what you're thinking, why are you doing anything of what you are doing, why are you like this, I..."

She shifted, hugging herself and averting her gaze to something else. Just anything to avoid looking upon his eyes. "...I don't know you. I can't even see the reason behind your actions, what motivates you."

Something shifted in his gaze, and he tilted his head in a curious manner, squinting his eyes.

"...And that is what you are afraid of?"

Her brow furrowed even further. His reaction was not at all what she expected. And that is precisely what she was talking about. It scared her.

"Yes."

He crept up a few stairs, moving like a true predator, once again lifting up his lantern. His eyes bore into her, and something shifted in his voice; it sounded deeper, and smooth like velvet. But with an underlying hint of mockery as if he was teasing her.

"You are scared... Of what I might think or do?"

"...Yes."

Unseen behind his mask, a smile could be heard in his now amused voice. "Oh, but my dear Christine, your Erik's unpredictability helps him to escape difficult situations."

He continued with the same mocking amusement present in his speech seeing her agape expression. "Yes, my dear. For you see, back when Erik was in Persia, he was sentenced to death."

She was shocked by the nonchalance with which he spoke of such atrocities. However, she managed to ask: "Why?"

"Isn't it obvious?" He snorted as if it were clear as day. "I knew too much. At any rate, the reason does not matter. One does not NEED a serious reason to lose his head in that hell of a country, much less in the Shah's palace. They tied me up and put me behind bars. And do you know how I escaped?"

She continued to stare, not even realizing it. "...No?"

"I sang."

Christine's brows shot up and she tilted her head. "What?"

Erik rolled his eyes. "I sang. Do you not have ears, girl? Christine, Erik thought you had no problems with hearing."

She emitted a nervous laugh, perhaps worried, what he would do, if she didn't. "Oh, stop. So, you sang?" She asked in an amused tone for his benefit.

Without straightening his back, he lifted his chin and adjusted his snow-white bowtie. He was ready to experience embarrassment, if it would lighten up his beloved's mood.

"...Yes. I sang. And thus I became acquainted with one very curious chief of Persian police, who aided me out of prison."

A smile that reigned on her face slowly vanished, as she lost herself in her thoughts and theories. "...Very unpredictable."

He shrugged once again with forced nonchalance. "I told you. My whole life has been like this."

She raised one brow. "What, escaping jails?"

His eyes widened, afraid that he had said too much. He hurried to disapprove her thoughts. "No. I meant, it has been full of such peculiar situations." He gestured towards her, silently telling her to follow him. They began going down once more, but their conversation did not cease. "Because I am a 'genius', as you said, I have always been able to find solutions to my problems."

He chose to ignore the elephant in the room earlier, but decided to address it now. He did not want to talk any more of his past, anyway. "But enough about me. What about that boy?"

Her voice rang with caution. "What about Raoul?"

He proceeded with forced negligence. "Tell me. What are your feelings towards him?"

She opened her mouth in her readiness to protest.

"I won't judge," he added with hurry. "Erik just believes that he has the right to know. How did you two become acquainted?" He asked, wanting to avert her attention to a less private topic.

She thought that no harm would come from telling Erik her backstory with Raoul. She looked up, summoning the memories from the back of her mind. "Well, it was a very long time ago," she told, her voice musing.

By that time the air around them had become cold and damp, and Christine could tell they had a little more time to go until they reached the underground lake.

Hidden anger and understanding mixed in his voice as he spoke. "Mmm, I see, so he is a childhood friend of yours?"

She sensed it but answered nonetheless. "Yes, you could say that."

Finally, vast, dark waters of the underground lake appeared before them. It had suddenly turned quite freezing there, and little clouds of water vapour escaped Christine's nostrils and mouth as she breathed. She looked around and wrapped her arms around herself in a vain attempt to keep the warmth. Erik did not seem to notice that, however: he was more interested in preparing the boat for their departure.

"So, tell Erik, how did a young Viscount meet the little daughter of a travelling violinist?" he asked with unfeigned interest, hanging the lantern on the boat's end and bending to untie the rope that kept the boat from straying off the little dock.

She could think of nothing more but continue talking. Oh, Raoul, her dear Raoul. She already missed his presence, recounting the days of their youth. Ah, sweet memories...

"Father and I settled in Pierro-Guirec for the summer. I was standing on a cliff and suddenly a gust of wind blew my scarf off of my head and carried it to the ocean. I screamed out of fear and surprise. Raoul was passing by with his governess, he heard me crying. He ran into the ocean and swam through the harsh waves and rescued my scarf. Then, absolutely soaked to the skin in sea water, he brought it back to me, wet and shivering, but smiling widely. 'Here is your scarf, Mademoiselle!' he said. We were inseparable since then. Raoul and I..."

Her voice was musing; a dreamy smile spread across her features; she even forgot about the cold, lost in good memories. To her she felt as though she were not five cellars underground, but once again back out on that shoreside in Pierro-Guirec with her childhood sweetheart. Erik listened stiffly, soaking up information.

"We spent that whole summer together, playing hide-and-seek in the cliffs, throwing sand as we chased each other, building sand castles - his were always better, no matter how much he denied it - searching for seashells, splashing in the waves... I thought... That maybe I was..."

Silence fell between them. He knew exactly what she was going to say. That maybe that boy loved her. Or that she loved him. He already finished the necessary preparations with the boat, but he did not stand up, finding himself unable to move, only to listen and think. He felt fortunate he had decided to wear gloves, or how unnaturally white-even more so than usual-his clenched hands had become might have scared the poor girl.

She continued, not noticing the sudden stiffness in her companion's figure.

"Hah, I could not even fathom the concept of love then, neither of us could. We were only children. It was a very romantic, a very naive and childish talk of things we both did not understand. I couldn't comprehend my own feelings towards him back then. I liked him, of course I did, but I felt like there was something more than that... I thought it was love."

Erik listened, still not standing up, but slowly turning his head to the side, looking at Christine with the corner of his right eye. Her face darkened, and he knew that they were approaching the end of the story.

"But we parted. The summer came and went, and father and I were forced to move on. And on that day, at the party, when he finally spoke to me again, I recognized him immediately. How could I forget him? My heart raced - I knew it was him, my dear, sweet Raoul, who saved my scarf all those years ago. I was afraid that you would hurt one of the very few people dear to me when he introduced himself that night. So I pretended that I didn't know him and brushed him off. I did so because of you. You, of course, immediately saw through that facade."

He shrugged, trying to not reveal the agony and pain that he was going through by his voice or stature. "Yes, it was quite obvious."

She was ignorant of his inner turmoil. "That was exactly my point. You know, you are unpredictable, but I... seem to be very."

She shrugged then, unconsciously imitating Erik's movements. He noticed that, however, musing for a moment what that could mean. But he brushed off the thought, stood up and went to her side, finally acknowledging the fact that it was freezing in this dungeon, and his lady was in an evening dress.

He took off his cloak and went behind Christine, offering her the warmth of his clothing. She nodded hesitantly, and he gingerly hung the cloak on her shoulders.

"It's not that you are predictable, Christine." He fastened the clasp on her neck, taking care not to brush her skin with his cold fingers, and left her side. He noticed how her shoulders shook and trembled. But it was not due to the cold...

He gestured towards the boat, inviting her to climb in. She quietly obeyed, as he continued speaking. "I have always been able to easily read people and predict their next moves. It saved my life more than once."

He climbed in after her, taking the pole and making the first move, pushing the boat a few feet away from the dock in one powerful strike. She realized that she never actually saw him rowing: the only other time she was on this boat she was half-unconscious, and the whole trip was absent from her memories.

So now she watched him with admiration, as he manipulated the pole with trained precision, expertly guiding the boat throughout the darkness of the cavern.

He did not care to maintain the enchanted silence, however, continuing expressing his thoughts.

"You could say I have a... special talent for that."

She blinked, as if broken free from a spell, and asked with a hint of disbelief and fascination: "How many talents do you have?"

Not ceasing rowing for a second, he shrugged in a complacent manner, a movement which only emphasized just how gaunt his figure was.

"You know... Nobody has ever counted them yet," he said, throwing her a smug look across his shoulder.

Something clicked inside her and a grin showed on her face; her sudden light and sonorous laughter flew across the waters of the lake, reflecting from the walls of the vast vaults and returning with echoes.

She pressed her hand to her mouth as if trying to contain the laughter, but the sounds still escaped her throat, and her eyes glimmered with amusement.

He stared at her with wide eyes, enchanted and musing, what had she found so funny. Thinking it not important, and revelling with the fact that she actually laughed in his presence, he thought it a significant progress and smiled under the mask. Her girlish giggles caused a warmth to spread through his chest. If anyone were to hear an angel's laugh, it would sound just as he was hearing now.

"Yes, Christine, you laugh!" He turned his back to her once more, resuming rowing. "Oh, this sound is more savoury and prepossessing to your Erik's ears than any music he has ever heard or written! My dear, this is going to be just splendid! Only you and your Erik, and endless music."

He did not notice that her laughter had ceased in the middle of his first sentence. The impact of his words, she and Erik. It made her heart sink. She did not want to laugh anymore.

"God is a cruel being, of course, but, indeed, there is some good in the world if He allowed Erik to know happiness. A whole lifetime of rejection and pain was worth it if it meant that, in the end, Erik would meet you!.."

He dragged on with his monologue, slowing down the boat and reaching forward to grab the rope on the bank and bind the boat.

"And only to think... you agreed to stay! With Erik! Erik is sorry, my dear, but he is still having a hard time believing it and grasping the fact that this all might be real, not another dream that would turn into a nightmare after a moment of bliss..."

He, hardly aware of what he was doing, put the pole down, picked up the lantern, nearly jumped on the bank with a boyish enthusiasm and offered his hand to her to help her out of the boat. She accepted the hand, not listening to him, lost in her own thoughts. Lost thinking about what she was now leaving behind. Leaving Raoul behind...

Still speaking, he led her to the drawing room, the room which doors faced the lake and left her side to snuff out the lantern and put it on the nearest table.

"Christine, Erik hasn't felt this good in DECADES, Christine, YOU gave him that feeling of belonging and... and happiness!" he spoke, lighting the gas lamps across the room. Finally, he turned to face her, bending backwards with his arms stretched outward. "Yes, Christine, Erik can say that he may finally be happy at last!"

Then he, once again, noticed her saddened expression. He bent forward, slouching in his usual manner and gingerly approached her. Why was she unhappy? Erik had promised on his life that no harm would come to Christine. Erik would give her anything and everything she ever wanted.

So why was she crying?

He noticed a single teardrop form in her eye, which she hastily wiped away. She however couldn't hide the tiny hiccup that escaped her throat as another fresh tear that she was not quick enough to catch fell freely down her porcelain cheek.

His heart fell. What had he done wrong? However, before he could say anything, before his brain managed to form a comprehensible thought, she spoke in a distorted voice: "You are happy. Alright. What about me?

"...You are..." he began, slightly gesturing towards her. Finally, he emitted a high-pitched, broken sigh.

"O-oh."

They both stood in silence for a minute or so, before Erik hugged himself and spoke with hesitation.

"You... you are unhappy."

She nodded; tears kept running; she couldn't believe she was doing this to him. As couldn't he.

"...Tell me what you want. Tell me, what can I do to make you happy, Christine? I can give you anything you want. Please. Oh, my dear, please don't cry. You know how much it hurts for Erik to see you cry."

He looked at her with eyes, full of hope. She answered almost immediately. She knew exactly what she wanted.

"Freedom. I want freedom."

He snapped, tilting his head, squinting his eyes, aggression showing in his normally velvet voice.

"Freedom, freedom," he repeated mockingly. "What is freedom to you?"

"An ability to make choices, to wander free. Here I feel like I am trapped. Like a... a songbird with clipped wings! You are going to keep me here forever, aren't you? Will I even see the light of day ever again? I am doomed to live forever in these damp catacombs!"

"You… you doomed YOURSELF, Christine Daaé!" He spat out with unrestrained anger. No longer did he hold a giddy stride or heartfelt reflection of happiness. "The moment you tore off this mask was the moment you condemned yourself to a whole lifetime of THIS before your eyes!" His hands flailed wildly, furiously gesturing towards himself and towards Christine.

She just shook her head and hid her face in her hands, crying with full force. Christine had no fight left in her to hide her sorrow. She knew he was right. It was all her fault. And now, she was to live her life with a monster.

Something broke in him, however, the moment he saw her weeping. His angel, this innocent girl crumpled in on herself with tears. Her cries seemed to bounce off the very walls, creating a sorrowful symphony.

The angels were weeping. But not weeping tears of joy.

Erik realized that HE had done this to her, and he would never be happy unless he did something about it. The songbird should be allowed her wings to fly free.

All the rigidity vanished from his stature, and his hands hung helplessly at his sides.

"...I am sorry, Christine. I am sorry, please, forgive me."

She was still crying, barely listening. All she thought about now was how trapped she was, never again to see her freedom, her friends… or her dear Raoul again.

Erik needed to do more than just apologizing, his words clearly fell on deaf ears as Christine continued to cry. He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes and approached her, straightening his back.

"Christine... listen, please. I beg you, listen to me."

Tears did not stop, however, as she uncovered her face and looked up at him. He looked down at her with immense sadness in his eyes and dared raise his hand to gingerly brush an astray curl from her ivory forehead. Her eyes red rimmed from floods of tears, still damp and running down her cheeks. He inhaled once again.

"Christine. Listen. If you do not wish to stay, then… Then I can take you back? If you wish, I can take you back. Erik cannot bear seeing you like this. I beg you, Erik will beg you on hands and knees. Please do not cry anymore." His breathing became ragged. "If you say Erik needs to let you go for you to be happy, then… Then so be it. You…" He breathed in sharply. "Christine could catch a cab… that boy's ship likely has not left yet…"

He exhaled hoarsely and retreated from her, falling into a velvet armchair and covering his eyes with his pale hand. Now HE was crying. Or, at least, actively trying NOT to. But better he cry for eternity than to see his angel weep for another moment.

"Just… just go, if you really want. Leave me here, forget me, just go..."

A deafening silence was the response to his revelation.

"God, Christine, just ANSWER already!"

He tore his hand off of his masked face and looked up at her, clutching the armrests' ends.

She stood in the centre of the room, where he left her, looking at him with wide, tear-stained eyes. She appeared to be in shock.

"Erik, whatever caused you to believe that I wanted to go with Raoul? You perfectly know that I myself rejected his offer."

"Do not mock me now or think me naive, child," he pleadingly said. "I am aware that you made such a choice because you were afraid of my haunting you two your entire lives. You said so yourself, yes, you knew your Erik was listening. Which it would be true, if it were that way."

She clenched her teeth at his biting remark. So he spied on her, even though he promised her not to do so. Sudden anger shot through her.

"You stalked me? You promised you wouldn't do that, Erik!"

"Promises are for fools, my dear," he said, waving his hand with dramatic disgust. "I have been taught not to trust ANYONE more times than you could imagine, and I still seem to not be able to finally learn this lesson," he told her accusingly, gesturing with his voice towards the events that transpired in the house on the lake when Christine was here the last time. "And I cannot even trust you, as I saw it in your eyes. You wanted to run away with him. You promised you would not speak to the Viscount again. But you did, at the masked ball you did!"

"Erik, I have already said that I am sorry for what has happened the last time I have been here. I do not know what has come over me. I shouldn't have done it, I shouldn't have touched your mask, just as you had told me. I would have never betrayed your trust like that if I had known what the consequences would be."

"You have betrayed it multiple times on your own accord," he said gravely. "But Erik does not blame you, Christine, no, not at all. Erik understands why you have done it. But we are straying from the topic, my dear," he added forcedly. "Will you leave or not?"

Her shocked expression returned. Has he just literally offered to take her back to the surface? She tilted her head with curiosity and furrowed her brows - a sign of disbelief. Of course, she thought, there is something wrong here. He wouldn't just let her go, no, never.

He would never let her go.

So there was no sense in trying to run away. Even if they both thought that it would be better that way. Wherever she went, whatever she did, he would find her and taunt and torture her. He would always be there singing songs in her head.

A new portion of tears formed in her eyes, and she hid her face in her palms once again. The songbird would be forever entrapped and captive to a golden cage, fated to live the life of a mistress of the Death himself, imprisoned  **forevermore.**

She frantically shook her head, and he needed no more answer than that. He stood up and passed her, gesturing towards the narrow hallway, inviting her to follow.

He led Christine to the now familiar Louis-Philippe room and closed the door after she entered. He leaned on the door and took off his mask with trembling fingers.

He frowned, looking at the inner side of his mask, holding the item in his hands.

This arrangement would prove itself to be more strenuous and excruciating than he expected. For both of them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hello there, my dear readers, sorry for such a long delay. Things got pretty wild here, but I'm sure the pauses between the chapters will be shorter now that I have at least some control over the situation. I plan 15 chapters for now; await a new chapter in a week or so. Maybe two weeks. For now, please enjoy chapter 2. I wonder if you will find it rather interesting ...

**Forevermore, Chapter 2**

Christine slowly opened her eyes, still reveling in a sleepy daze. She took a deep breath and turned to lie on her right shoulder to try and knock off the slumber that threatened to overtake her all over again. She tried and focused her eyesight and only then remembered where she was.

She abruptly sat in her bed. Blood rushed to her head, causing her a mild dizziness for a minute or so. She hid her face in her palms until the feeling went away.

And then she looked around herself to inspect the all-too familiar Louis-Philippe chamber with everything being in the same place as she had left it several weeks before that. However, the room was perfectly clean: not a peck of dust could be seen on any surface. Erik must have been taking care of this chamber while she had been away. He always cared...

Thoughts swirled in her head. What would she do now?

She needed to think, she decided. So she assumed a thinking pose, resting her head on her arm, and started musing.

Erik loved her, or, at least, he thought so. He did not tire of professing his love to her over and over again. But really, to her his love looked like no love at all. It was obvious that he would do anything so she would remain by his side - in that aspect he was completely selfish. Love, she thought, was known to be an incredibly selfless feeling. What if she did not want to be near him? She would prefer Raoul over Erik. Raoul was always tender and caring and loving. Erik... well, Erik was too, but he usually threw his temper tantrums out of nowhere and he was entirely unpredictable. And he scared her. And he was ugly. He didn't have a nose, for god's sake!

So if it was not love, then what? She recalled his passion for music. Once he had told her that music was his obsession. And another time he had told her that he loved her more than music, and would gladly to give up his music if it meant to be with her forever. She started thinking if his love was nothing but unhealthy obsession, one that hurt both her and him, and the more she thought about it, the more plausible it seemed to her.

Of course. If he truly loved her, he would let her go. He was being obsessive and selfish. And if he was going to be selfish, then she was going to be selfish, too.

She stood up and approached the door as she was asking herself how had she not thought of this earlier.

* * *

In the dining-room Erik was preparing everything for Christine's breakfast. It would be Christine's breakfast, of course, because he, as usually, did not intend to share the meal with her.

He noticed that the fork had deviated several degrees to the right from its supposed position - his quick fingers swiftly fixed the imperfection. She would enjoy it, he was sure. He had already heard the commotion in the Louis-Philippe room. Surely, she was going to come out shortly.

* * *

An hour passed. He did not hear any noise coming out of her room anymore. He thought it strange. What was taking her so long?

Fear boiled up in his mind. What if she slipped in her bathroom and fell and hit her head? What if she was bleeding out there right now when he was waiting here, clueless? What if she had a heart attack? Oh, God, what if she died?

Determined, he stood up and strode to the entrance to Louis-Philippe room. He smoothed his clothes and made sure the mask was in place before gingerly planting three gentle knocks on the door.

"Christine? Are you up already? My dear, it is already 11, surely you cannot sleep in like this!" Changing his tone to a softer one, he added timidly: "Are you alright?"

Christine jerked in her bed. The second he mentioned breakfast, her stomach growled aggressively. She closed her eyes and tried to brush away the thought. No, she could not think of food.

She opened her eyes and answered.

"Yes, I am quite alright, Erik."

He let out a sigh of relief. That's it, she just slept in. Everything was fine. SHE was fine.

"Well then, I am expecting you for your breakfast, my dear." With those words, he left for the kitchen.

And in her room, Christine fought the urge to open the door and go and eat her food. "That is exactly what HE, that masked devil, wants you to do, Christine," she thought. "Eventually, he will give up and let you go."

* * *

More hours passed. It was already one o'clock in the afternoon. His brow furrowed under his mask as he watched the grandfather clock chime its one stroke.

He rose from his seat in the drawing-room and approached the door to her chamber once again. His knocking now was louder, more demanding. He was practically hitting the door with the side of his bony palm. His patience wore thin; he was done waiting.

"Christine, what is the meaning of this? Your breakfast is cold now! Has something happened?" He planted the last knock so furiously, that the door shuddered. "ANSWER!"

She jumped in her bed. The ache in her stomach had dulled, so it has been easier to fight the urge to go open the door. But she was scared, so she remained silent.

Silence.

Then, a deafeningly loud smack on the wooden door of unusual construction could be heard.

"...Christine, ANSWER, DAMN YOU!"

"Leave me alone, Erik!"

"What in the world do you mean? Erik will not leave you! Not until he sees you to your breakfast!"

"I will not leave this room, Erik! Go away!" She trembled from talking back to him in such a manner, but she was tired of being a scared little lamb in a lion's den.

An exasperated huff could be heard from behind the door.

"Christine, you foolish child, stop speaking nonsense! Surely you must eat! Christine cannot starve!"

"She can! And she will! If you cannot let me live in peace, I will just wither away here, underground, s-so that no-ob-body w-would h-have m-me..." she rasped, choking on her tears.

A soft gasp came from the corridor.

"C-Christine... You do not mean this... Please, you must go out..."

She only shook her head, trying to shake off the feeling of being besieged, entranced by his pleading hypnotizing voice, and buried her face in her bed sheets.

* * *

The next few hours were spent by Christine's door, begging the young girl to leave her room and go and have a proper meal. In answer he only received sobs and wails. He tried opening the door the usual way - pressing into the wood and sliding it sideways - but it was locked from the other side, so he could not do that. He nearly broke the door down in frustration and anger, and his pretty violent attempts to do so had most likely scared the poor girl to death, but, alas, he had made sure the room he himself had designed would be impenetrable.

After a long time of battling Christine's stubbornness and the damn door, he decided to give up his attempts to coax or scare Christine out of her room and strode to the drawing-room. He checked the time. It was nearly 5 o'clock in the afternoon.

He gritted his teeth behind his silk mask and clenched his fists so tightly, that his accurately trimmed nails bit into his thin papery skin, leaving indents. His angel was suffering... starving because of him! Horrid, gruesome, pitiful, horrendous monster, monster, monster, monster, he reproved himself. 'She is suffering because of you', one of his demons whispered in his ear. 'What will you do now?'

He could not let her die. If she died, then he would die, too. He could not bear the thought of a life without her... He needed to find a way to get her to leave her room. Pleading or pressing her would not help. Apparently, it only made her cry more. Had she really thought that she could regain her freedom by going on a...  **hunger-strike?!**

He thought that, maybe, he could reach her room through the "Torture Chamber". The "Torture Chamber", after all, had a door leading to the Louis-Philippe chamber. As usual, he smirked at the name he bestowed upon the little chamber with an iron tree.

Seriously, it was such a felicitous name for that chamber! Once the people would hear that they would be taken to the infamous "Torture Chamber", they would usually begin imagining various horrid things: racks, garrotes, iron maidens, giant scissors... However, when they would see the chamber, they would find themselves in a rather precarious location! They would find themselves in a forest made of iron trees, and they would believe that the name of this chamber was a joke. However, once the chamber would be activated, the REAL tortures would begin! No man has yet survived in that "Torture Chamber"!

He found himself chuckling against his own will. Still giggling like a schoolgirl, he exited the house, locking it with a "key", which did not resemble a key at all, and, untying the boat and moving to stand in it, started rowing across the lake.

The ebony waters of the underground lake - which was not a lake at all, but rather subterranean waters turned into a reservoir by Opera constructors, - the waters parted obediently before the boat's bow as the steady movements of the pole guided it through them. The stale, cold air made it more difficult to breath than above ground, and the faint smell of the water gave away the level of its purity. One would not want to fall into that water, or drink it - it was not at all potable.

It was not long until he had reached the other bank of the lake, the one of the Communists' road. There, in the Communists' dungeon, he used a side path and began his lengthy and tedious ascend to reach the second cellar.

Every step was weighing him down with guilt and self-loathing, which slowed down his climbing a whole lot. He could not understand Christine, no matter how much he tried. Alright, for the sake of the argument, he thought, suppose that Christine loves the Viscount. He left her, both lovers, most assuredly, parting in agony over their reciprocal loss. Then, he, Erik, came along and took her to his underground house, for her to live with him forever. She would be his wife, his loving, living bride… if only he could get her to not lock herself away in her room!

He scoffed under his  _barbe du masque_ , and the free cloth swayed from his forceful breath. Women… Truly the most mysterious creatures of the world. One does not need to rampage the deepest corners of the planet to search for unicorns, or fairies, or dragons: women are far more mythical and enigmatic beings, and they were right here all along, right under men's noses.

And right when he was contemplating what mythical creature his Christine would be (because none really fit the description, she deserved a title no less than one of a goddess), he found himself exiting the secret passage on the second cellar, where dark, cryptic shades of men in all senses of that word did their hard labour of constantly supplying the giant Opera House's heater machines with charcoal. He hid in the shadows, that have been called forth by the sharp contrast of the darkness of the cellars and the light, emitted by the gigantic furnaces, and found his way onto the stairs, gingerly creeping down into the third cellar, where the crisp silence, deep semi-darkness and dusty old stage pieces created a unique, exceptional atmosphere of a magical, abstract ancient kingdom of different realities, distorted and melted at the hands of the triumphant  _homo sapiens_.

And there was a foreign feeling, an alien presence, which segregated from the common environment and stuck out from the regular ambience like a sore thumb. It was very obvious, even though nothing unusual could be heard or seen. This gut feeling alerted Erik immediately, and, following his instincts, he crouched down and moved within the darkness as if he himself were a shadow.

He had passed several halls filled with abandoned stage pieces when he finally saw it. There was a  _light_ in the everpresent gloom. It was being emitted by a lantern, held high above the floor of stone by a male figure of an average height.

The figure must have sensed him, as it suddenly turned around with a horrified look upon its feminine face.

"WHO'S THERE?" It yelled with distraught into the darkness. Erik winced.

It was  _the Viscount Raoul de Chagny himself._

The Viscount took a few deep, shuddering breaths and turned back around, talking to himself in a quivering voice in an attempt to calm down. "Alright, Raoul, do not yield… Now, where have they found that stagehand?..."

So the boy hadn't left after all, Erik contemplated. Why was the fop here, obviously trying to search for Christine? Had something happened to the ship? Erik stood up from his hiding point and silently dashed further into the shadows, the rustling of his cloak the only sound that has been created by his stealthy movement.

Raoul ventured deeper into the halls of the third cellar, nervously glancing around for a sign of the  _monster_ appearing. He had a terrible, gut-wrenching feeling of being watched as he looked around for the legendary farm-house and the scene from the  _Roi de Lahore_.

In the darkness Erik shifted uncomfortably. The fop was reaching his destination. One more turn to the right and the sought after stage pieces would be seen… The boy had to be stopped! But how? He could not kill him, Christine would be mad! Oh, but she thinks he left for the North Pole- no one would find out, hehe… He found himself chuckling slightly as his bony fingers found the thin string, folded neatly in his pocket…

Raoul heard something. It sounded like a chuckle… Perspiration appeared on his smooth forehead; suddenly his palms turned sweaty. A sense of dread washed over him like a tide and pulled him into the endless and bottomless ocean of panic. Abruptly, he swirled around and cried out in a tone that he hoped sounded more confident than he felt.

"I KNOW YOU ARE HERE, MONSTER! WHERE IS CHRISTINE?!  **WHERE HAVE YOU TAKEN HER?!** "

Erik's hand, ready to throw the string, froze. He eyed the manchild before him with curiosity. Interesting, he thought, he assumed the fop did not possess even a semblance of a backbone. Nevertheless, here he stood, shouting into the darkness as if it was going to save him from immediate death.

The bony hand that held the string came down, the thin material swishing through the dusty air and finding it way around the lantern that held the only light source in this darkness. The lantern was wrested from the Viscount's grip and shattered into a million pieces upon impact with the stone floor. Raoul emitted a sharp, terrified gasp and stumbled backwards, leaning on the cold wall, trying to support himself, trying to accustom his eyesight to the never-ending darkness that seemed to close in on him…

"You should have known better than returning to my domain,  _boy,_ " the Voice said sternly, seething with barely restricted anger.

Raoul felt his knees shaking. The Man's Voice seemed to come from all directions at once, the voice of extreme power and possessiveness, the voice of an angel?... No, of a monster, a  _demon_!

"WHERE IS CHRISTINE?!" Raoul shouted again into the darkness.

The Voice chuckled.

"Christine Daae is none of your concern anymore. Leave this place  _immediately_  lest you wish to be prematurely sent to your personal hell."

Raoul gulped. But he refused to yield. "I am not going to leave without her... you... MONSTER!"

Suddenly, an ice-cold skeletal hand wove around the Viscount's throat, lifting him off the floor, leaving him gasping for air, clawing at the arm that choked him, his mind slowly getting dizzy, his eyes only ever focused on those two sinister yellow dots that had suddenly appeared before him...

"Watch your tongue,  _boy_ ," the Voice seethed through gritted teeth, as his golden eyes gleamed with fury in the darkness. "I will take  _immense_  pleasure in snapping your pretty neck." As if to validate his threat, his grip on the Viscount's throat tightened just a bit. But it was enough for de Chagny to emit a strangled cry and for his clawing on Erik's hand to weaken. The Phantom felt hot tears fall onto his bony, cold fingers.

And suddenly, an image appeared before his eyes. In his mind, for a split second, in a flash he saw all those faces once again, the faces of those he had killed with his bare hands the same way, lifting them off the ground and choking them, the faces that he had tried to forget and, after decades, succeeded. His memory flooded with all those faces, wincing in pain, those different eyes, - jade green, emerald, ice-blue, chocolate brown, dark-turquoise, ALL sorts of eyes, - shining with tears of horror; he suddenly felt all those tears on his hands, burning his skin as liquid fire. He remembered just how many times he had felt tears like those on his deathly hands… And he pulled back.

The Viscount fell onto the ground, hitting the floor with a loud  _thump_ , gasping for air, holding his now sore throat. The Phantom stumbled backwards, clutching his head, still overwhelmed with sudden feel of  _deja vu_ , such sudden, ever-torturing nostalgia…

All Raoul saw were two faintly shining golden lights swinging back and forth in the darkness; all he heard were strangled groans, as if  _the beast_  was fighting someone…

At first, Raoul thought he had been saved by some unknown hero; he was ready to thank his saviour, but then, as his eyes accustomed to the darkness, with horror he saw that  _the monster_  was fighting…  _himself_!

Finally regaining his breath, Raoul stood, trying to balance himself, his head still dizzy from the lack of oxygen. In terror he realized then, that the grunting had stopped, and everything was now silent. The Viscount slowly turned his head towards  _the monster_ , only to see those two vengeful, terrifying golden eyes staring back at him.

The two had stared at each other for quite some time, until the Phantom had found his voice.

"Go," his voice quavered. Those faces were still floating in front of him, torturing him, mocking him… He felt his own tears soak the material of his mask.

The Viscount squinted, looking at the monster ingeniously, as if contemplating if  _the beast_  had planned something and was trying to lead him into a trap.

The Phantom's hands curled into tight fists as he shouted. "GO, NOW!"

The Viscount, terrified by the sudden outburst, turned and ran away, away from the horrid cellar, his step still tottering.

"AND NEVER COME BACK,  **VISCOUNT**!" Erik shouted, spitting the last word as if it were the worst insult that existed on Earth.

He sighed and lowered himself on the floor, now weeping openly. Immense guilt penetrated his broken heart like a spear, clouding his mind, as he hugged himself with his gaunt arms.

* * *

He could not know how much time he had spent like this, wallowing in despair, guilt and self-loathing. To think only: after going nearly twenty years without killing a single soul, he had suddenly felt the same murderous urge… And it brought back such painful memories…  _Persia..._

Slowly, he stood. His glance weakly ran over the place, where the secret passage, leading to the Torture Chamber, was hidden. His thoughts returned to Christine. Christine…

It was no use, he thought meekly. Even if he forced her out of her room, she would run back and lock herself up again, or simply refuse to eat. And he most certainly could not force-feed her. Nevertheless, he at least decided to try.

Hesitantly, he brushed his hand across the trigger hidden in stone and jumped into the opened trapdoor. The landing came smooth, painless and silent, as usual.

He went forward, not losing his orientation for a split second, and knocked on the wall that connected to the Louis-Philippe room.

* * *

In her chamber, Christine was battling the immense hunger. It somewhat dulled as the evening came, but the horrid feeling of her guts pressing against her spine never went away, as she curled on her bed in an attempt to forget about food.

One can imagine her reaction, when she heard three timid signature knocks at the wall of her room.

She jolted up, wondering if she had begun hallucinating. There was no door in that direction. How can someone knock from behind a solid wall?...

Then,  _his_  voice, Erik's voice, could be heard. "Christine? It is I, your Erik. ...May I come in?"

"NO!" came her shouted reply. He winced at the shriek. "I… I am not decent!" she added after a second of strained silence.

"Erik will wait," he said nonchalantly and leaned against the mirror wall, crossing his hands on his chest.

* * *

...Half an hour passed. He had been hearing rustling through the wall, though there had been no indication that he could enter.

"Christine, are you  _quite_  decent yet?" he asked with a bit of annoyance.

"N-no," came her muffled reply. "N-not yet." Maybe, if she prolonged his entrance, he would go back the way he came?...

"Alright," he shrugged and waited.

Another fifteen minutes passed. His patience was wearing thin.

"Christine, exactly for how long are you intending to keep me here?"

"N-not for long..." she said.

A fist collided with the mirrored surface with a loud  _clank_. Christine shrieked.

"CHRISTINE, STOP  **LYING**!" he shouted. "I CAN SENSE YOUR FILTHY LIES FROM A  **MILE**  AWAY! NOW  **LET ME PASS**!"

"LEAVE! LEAVE ME  **ALONE**!" she cried. Well, at least she was honest. His anger rose.

"My DARLING," his voice seethed with fury, "I cannot LEAVE. I am in the ' _Torture Chamber'_  right now, and the ONLY way out lies through YOUR room, now  **please** will you let me come out?!"

After a few seconds of silence, her timid voice could be heard, sounding suspiciously much closer. "Y-you… You are not going to… t-to force me?... force me come out of my room?"

He nearly choked at her words.

"Ch-Christine! WHAT in the BLASTED WORLD gave you that absolutely and utterly INCREDULOUS idea?!" he told her with a bit more force than originally intended. "Of COURSE I am not going to force you to do anything, I respect your wishes!"

"No, you don't," came her quiet reply. He froze.

He groaned then and brought his hands up to massage his temples that began to pulsate with pain.

"Christine," came his reply. "Christine, despite what you may think… I do respect you, truly. Without you I would die. How could I not respect you? Please, Christine..."

She looked around frantically. She was standing in front of the wall opposite to the door that led to the bathroom. She could try to cover her ears with a pillow, but inside she knew that it would not stop his voice from reaching her mind. Nothing would.

Nevertheless, she brought up her hands to cover them. No use. She could still hear his hypnotizing voice… It was too much. And wasn't he right anyway? Haha, yes, of course, right… Everything he said was true…

She sniffed and nodded before answering. "...You may enter, Erik."

She watched in surprise as a part of her wall disappeared into darkness and gave way to the imposing, tall figure that stood in the narrow doorway. Golden eyes locked with her sky-blue ones; they seemed to mesmerize… She blinked and looked away. What now?

He simply stared at her for a while, not sure what to do. She complied by his request; there was nothing to fight for, nothing to argue about any longer; she was  _his_ , completely and irrevocably  _his_ , and certainly no Viscount held the power to take her from him. One of his demons whispered a gruesome, vile thought in his ear, but Erik brushed the little pest away. Only the gentlest and kindest of his behaviours could win him a chance with his beloved.

Still, he decided to try.

One of his bony hands reached out towards her. She backed away instinctively, remembering the deadly chill and the horrible smell of his fingers.  _A corpse, indeed._

The hand that reached out froze in midair, and he spoke. "Christine, please… My dear… Come with me… Christine cannot be hungry… She must be comfortable and happy… Oh, dear, sweet Christine, what can I do to make you happy?" His thin shoulders heaved, and a tear slid from beneath the mask and fell, disappearing in the folds of his suit.

Christine backed away even more, bumping into the wall. With horror she touched the wallpaper clad surface behind her to search for a door. It was hidden well… She could not grope the edge, and she seemed to forget, where exactly it was. She closed her eyes. There was nowhere to run.

* * *

_Hopelessness._

What a terrifying word.

What a terrifying feeling it signifies.

What a horrible meaning lies beneath and between those letters, seeping through their contours, like black, viscid ooze.

One cannot imagine a feeling more devastating; it ruins your soul from within, and all you can feel is the rumble of your petty hopes and pretty dreams coming down in crumbles.

It hurts so much, you can almost hear it.

He knew hopelessness; it was his faithful companion throughout his whole wretched and pitiful existence, along with morbid determination and a controversial will to live.

She came to know hopelessness fairly recently. She had had the first taste of it when her father had withered away.

And now she was trapped in hell, deep beneath the earth with a monster, who was obsessed with her and claimed to love her with all his vile black heart.

Only his heart wasn't all blackness and despair. But she was too frightened to see it.

"...Christine, please…"

She opened her eyes.

He was still there, his right arm outstretched towards her, breath ragged, his pleading golden eyes full of turmoil and anguish.

She felt numb. Absentmindedly she felt herself nodding. Then she was faintly aware of him approaching her, his cold bony hands gripping her upper arms, of this awful smell of decay he always carried with him…

She was led into the drawing-room and seated at a small table covered with starched tablecloth. Erik disappeared for a second, but she found herself unable to care. A cup of hot herbal tea was placed then in front of her. She looked at it as if it was an elaborate piece of machinery and looked up at Erik with confusion.

He sighed and gestured towards the steaming cup. "Drink, Christine."

Obediently she picked up the cup and took a sip. Strong taste and smell of herbs and honey assaulted her senses, and the hot liquid burnt her tongue, but she kept quiet. In the meantime, Erik disappeared once again.

She stared into nothingness, sipping her tea, lost in her thoughts and her feelings as the minutes crept by. When the cup was half-empty (or half-full?), a bony hand placed an enormous plate with an elaborate dish in front of her.

Christine blinked at it. It looked as if brought from a high-class restaurant or something: Caesar salad with traditional dressing with its white pieces of feta cheese and slices of fresh greenery perked up at her, a slice of mildly fried meat oozing with fragrant juice and yellow rice, smelling with carry; the sides of the plate were adorned with parmesan and some strange white sauce with little pieces of herbage that could be barely distinguished. A large glass of red wine was placed right beside the dish.

Christine turned her head the second time and looked up at Erik with even more confusion. He stood there, beside her, hands folded in front of him, as if he were a servant or a waiter in a grand restaurant where that dish had been served.

She sighed and turned back, picking up the fork. She had lost once more.


End file.
